


Halls of Silence

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s9e22 Stairway to Heaven, Gen, Prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 17:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1613834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was this it? The end? Had there been some quota, a checklist, from which Gadreel had been one by one ticking away the few chances God had granted him in life, a number not previously known to him that he'd finally reached the last digit of? Or was this simply the way all traitors inevitably ended?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halls of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> So remember when I, uh, a couple days ago said I should write about someone else than Gadreel? Scratch that. I'll never write about anyone but Gadreel again.

* * *

 

_Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned._

Was this it? The end? If it was, how had it come to be? Had there been some quota, a checklist, from which Gadreel had been one by one ticking away the few chances God had granted him in life, a number not previously known to him that he'd finally reached the last digit of? Or was this simply the way all traitors inevitably ended?  
The way  _he_  ended.

Was this, truly, the end?

_Forgive me, for my sins are many._

The blade he'd been cut with was not an angelic blade. That sting, and the burn that followed, he'd known in his flesh a million times before. It was like a lover, the touch that he'd known - always known - would end him. This was not it. This was a cold, forsaken dull tooth that tore through him like a Leviathan's mouth. It opened up a hole in him that barely flashed, and then it cut the light too, cut it like it was made of  _flesh,_ and he couldn't feel the bleeding anymore. There was nothing there but this deep unholy darkness that spread into his veins and filled him with toxin. He saw, but he wasn't sure what anymore; shapes - a three-headed beast - and behind them, a dark forest that surely had not grown in the library he'd fallen in. His back pressed against a firm surface that smelled of damp bark and the beast was gone, as was the last light he'd seen. Darkness overcame him but it was only half the darkness of the weapon that had ceased the pulse of his grace, half a welcome heaviness that spread with death into his vessel's limbs and seeped into him not like the poison that dimmed his light but like water into earth, and he let out a breath that echoed in the silence that had followed the dark.

His hand felt oddly empty with no other to hold, as if that touch had lasted an eternity. Perhaps it had. Perhaps Dean Winchester had truly held his hand forever. The emptiness would surely be shorter than that time, the ache that he felt had to vanish, and slowly, very slowly, like winter bending its back to birth the spring's first glow, it did. And when there was nothing - for a pleasant, forgiving, gentle while; for the summer's time that followed spring as surely as winters died - Gadreel felt at peace.

 _Forgiveness,_  a voice like thunder's low rumble mixing with the shaking masses of the earth spoke,  _You poor celestial, do you even know what forgiveness means?_

The darkness split, but the exit was not entirely unpleasant. Like through a slow-running current, the angel awakened, vision sore in the dim grey light.  
The trees above him, around him (underneath him, he couldn't be certain) shook but no wind could be heard. They seemed to bow to some unseen force that was much more profound than wind. In his unclear view, a shape - a tall man, or at least the black form of one - flashed in and out of sight. His hands pushed into the wet, coarse undergrowth that sucked his fingers inside, gushing water against his palms and over the webbing that evolution had scarcely granted to the human species, and he realised he was as bound in his vessel as he'd been before, an oddity in death.

The voice, if there had been one, was now gone and the trees stood still and as quiet as before.

Slowly and finding his balance lacking, Gadreel rose from where he'd collapsed, or rather where he had not but now found himself from. The only sound which remained was that of his struggle, and as his fingertips slid along the bark of the tree he could feel it sharply like the tree was becoming known to him in some new way he'd never experienced before. Before he'd straightened fully, his horizon swayed and turned to a haze of dark blue-grey that swirled sickeningly until stabilizing and beginning to form shapes again. The first things he could make out clearly were star-like sparks just a little further away from him, and as the rest sharpened he realised they had to be drops of water hanging by the needles of the trees. With one hand firmly upon the trunk behind him he pushed himself onwards and took a few stumbling steps upon the ground that swallowed half his foot on each step.

He had no idea where he was, so soon enough he stopped, and a sudden awareness of the gaping wound on him overtook him. When he looked down, however, he only saw the dry, intact fabric of the clothing he'd expected to see with no sign of a cut much less a slash of the kind he knew he'd sustained anywhere upon his form. Unexpectedly he shook, fingers reaching for the zipper of the hoodie's to pull it down, and once the layer hung open upon him he grasped the hem of the shirt below and dragged it up. There it was - that ugly, purple-coloured gash that was as long as his arm, stretching from his hip bone to his chest and cutting into the sternum in the middle. Nausea washed over him, a feeling he was vaguely familiar with but not in himself, only in his vessel and as an echo from other beings, and he doubled over until his knees gave in and he was on all fours upon the ground, gasping for air.

 

* * *

 

_Watch over me, Father. I am still yours, am I not? Have my faults driven not only you from Heaven, but myself from your heart just as easily? Undeserving as I am, do I not in your eyes still belong with you? Guide me; guide me if my fate still concerns you - if my grace still beats within yours._

The trees bent again. Their tops reached for one another until no sky was visible, and their thick branches joined as one to form great archs upon the angel's head. Darkness arrived as it had left, unexpected but not unwelcomed, and its fingers took a firm grip of Gadreel's shoulders as he continued walking. Although the hold made him uneasy and soon became the one thing that commanded his feet instead of simply a weight that followed him, he allowed the force to move him instead, trusting that it would take him where he needed to be.  
The path was long, longer than he'd expected, and with each step the weight upon him grew harder to bear and the pain inside him expanded alongside it like a fire slowly burning him from the inside out. He could see nothing, but there seemed to be no need for him to; the ground, instead of uneven and soggy as it had previously been, had turned to solid stone that smelled of smooth marble and the trees had disappeared, leaving behind only the ceiling that was too far for him to meet. His ears picked up the echoes of his own steps and a quiet whispering in the distance, as if only air was moving along the high floorless rooms.

"Gadreel," a voice spoke, and the voice was soft and pleasant, one that Gadreel had heard before.  
With the voice came a figure, the tall figure in black that he'd seen appearing and disappearing before in the woods, and he carried with him a pale pearly blue light that made his human form appear as if it had frozen to death with purple lips and ice-tinted skin.  
"It is an honour. We have, of course, briefly laid eyes upon one another during that unexpected little stunt of yours. A hero for a hero, it would seem, and you are paying the price. How... fitting."

Death had an aura to him; it wasn't repulsive or one that would instill fear. Instead, it filled Gadreel with respect now that he had no choice but to step into it and stay. The skeletal man offered a hand in front of him, but the angel did not meet it in the middle.  
"Not ready to go yet, am I correct?" the older spoke with a crooked smile of empathy.

"No," Gadreel simply replied, oddly confident in this meeting in the middle of nowhere, "My fight is not over."

A barely audible sigh was released between them, and Death's eyes turned as if looking for strength around the halls that Gadreel could not perceive. Then, almost suddenly, the deep black pair was staring at him directly and the expression on the eternal being was most serious.  
"But it is," Death said with weight in each word, "Where do you think you are? At the market place, that you can bargain with me?"

The heavy weight from Gadreel's shoulders slipped into his chest instead. Although there was no way for him to forget, the wound on his form reminded him of its existence by flashing a terrible wave of pain into his consciousness, and his hand reached to grip the fabric of his shirt in vain. His lips parted and a trembling little gasp passed them quietly.  
All of this the ancient in front of him took in with no curiosity and no sign of impatience whatsoever.

"I cannot," Gadreel spoke when he trusted his voice to carry once again, "I cannot leave yet. There is no peace as long as I know what lies are being told about me."

A warm, quiet and short but dry chuckle escaped Death and he took a step to the side, then walked a short distance before looking up and then back at the angel. His eyes sparkled in the eerie blue glow and he looked amused, like he was holding some delightful secret he wanted to part with but rather kept to himself for the sake of it, or perhaps because it was not meant for the angel's ears.  
"Do not burden yourself with matters of peace, soldier," he replied as he turned completely back towards Gadreel, "All that heaviness in you will be erased. What they think of you simply will not matter to you at all, I guarantee you that."

"It matters to me now," Gadreel responded impatiently, "I cannot come with you before I've made my peace."

Death raised his brows but not in a surprised manner, simply as an acknowledgement of the words and in a manner that made clear he thought of them as nothing of importance.  
"It is," he said peacefully, "entirely up to you, of course. You may stay here, if you think the twilight will grant you the satisfaction you do not wish to gain from well-earned rest. But there is no going back. Not for you. Not for anyone, Gadreel. Not for anyone."  
The pale man took a step back towards him and examined him for a long while before continuing, and Gadreel said nothing; there was nothing for him to say. The very thought of accepting the offer was horrifying, but hearing there was no way back hurt even more than the idea of letting go once and for all.  
"Haven't you had enough?" Death finally carried on, walking in front of Gadreel and standing there as his equal, "Have you not had your fill? You have basked in God's glory, you've been the brightest star on the morning skies; you've served with honour. You've fallen from grace and you've fallen from Heaven altogether. You have made your choices, the wrong ones and the right ones alike, and all this, Gadreel, all this brought you here. It is a long, hard journey you've made to stand where you stand now."

"I am not ready," the sentry spoke strainedly, although his conviction was falling apart as doubts nested in the midst of it like cancer, "This is no place for an ending."

"Oh, Gadreel, what do you know of endings? Do you know of them any more than of the beginnings, the places that existed before you were ever created?"

The angel shifted, casting a glance towards the dark halls of silence around them.

"Are you not but a part in this grand story? It is quite different from the one Metatron has been writing, I assure you," Death said with a hint of a smile again, "Your part, for now, has been written and closed, and like everyone else, you are unhappy with your closure."

"There is no closure!"

"As I said," the older continued, now with a clearly visible smile, "you are like all the other heroes I've had the honour to reap. Always in the middle of yet another war you cannot afford to lose. Walk with me, Gadreel. It will do you no harm."

 

* * *

 

_Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on Earth as is in Heaven. Forgive my sins, for I myself forgive everyone who has wronged me, and lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from evil._

The marble halls echoed less with each step, as if the world was changing again, disappearing into nothing. Death's steps were light and soundless so that Gadreel's seemed twice as heavy and crude in the perfect darkness in which they treaded onwards, and nothing could be seen even in the glow of the light that surrounded them, yet the halls still chimed with the whispers and the presence that followed them everywhere.

"You call me a hero," Gadreel spoke to end a lengthy silence.

Death looked at him, for the first time with a hint of surprise on his ageless features. Then he nodded.  
"Are you not?" he asked, corner of his mouth twitching to hint at an expression that Gadreel couldn't read.

"I wish to be," the sentry replied chokedly, "All I wanted was redemption; a new chance."

"And so cruelly, all that was taken from you."

"Yes."

Death shook his head, slowed his pace but did not stop, nor did he speak, not for a long while.  
"You claim that I've stolen something that belongs to you," he said then, surprising Gadreel.

"Stolen? I did not -"

"Stolen, for you claim that this inconvenient turn of events has robbed you of your redemption. Who am I to argue? In the large scale, your justice has no bearing on anything. I don't know if that consoles you; most likely not. The truth is, Gadreel, the world does not revolve around you, nor will it cease turning with your absence. The fate of your siblings weights upon other shoulders, and you have never been relieved of it, because you never carried it."

"So I am nothing but a character."

Death nodded.  
"As are we all," he replied quietly, thoughtfully; "We play our parts."

"I do not believe in that."

"You did," the older said like it was the alpha and omega of everything, "believe in it before. It was the wrong book, but you believed in it, however fleetingly. If you want the truth, this is it. But it is also true that we are all, at heart, authors as much as we are characters written. You decided for yourself. You acted with free will, parted from the book, and wrote your own story. What is that worth to you? Is the story worthless because you did not enjoy the ending?"

They walked on again in silence, and as much as Gadreel hated admitting it, he was growing weary of the debate. The marble beneath him had begun feeling more and more tiresome to walk upon, and sometimes a strong urge to lie down on it instead flooded into him.

"You're scared," Death noted.  
There was no judgement in his tone.  
"It's understandable. Think about it this way; your blade has sent more than enough of your own kind into these halls and beyond. I have not reaped all of them, not by far, and some of them are lost here. The chances of you ever wandering into them if you do decide to stay is small, and I'm not telling you not to. Perhaps if you do God will eventually pluck you out and send you on your way elsewhere. I think that is what the majority of the lost souls, angelic and others alike, hope for. What I can guarantee you is that such a thing has never happened and will likely not happen in foreseeable future either, and that by the time His hand reaches for you, no one will remember you any more than they'll remember your legacy, and therefore you'll be no better there than you are stuck in here. I  _am_  your best choice, Gadreel. And there are many who have passed before you. Your journey, while a lonely one, would not be as unique as you fear."

Gadreel's steps slowed down and, in a mere moment's time, ceased completely. He stood in the middle of the fading pearly light, palm pressed against the middle of the gash in his body and he felt himself swaying back and forth, but his mind was made.  
He smiled when Death turned towards him, and his smile was sad and afraid as much as it was thankful.

"I appreciate your words and your wisdom, old friend," he spoke, and his voice was raspy and dry but deep and confident, "but with utmost respect, I must decline your offer."

Death simply nodded.  
"I feared as much," he said.

Gadreel nodded in turn.  
"Will I be stuck here forever?" he asked then.

"For a while," Death replied, "whether that is a forever to you is of no concern of mine. It is your decision."

"I am not known for making the right ones," the angel said with a crooked smile full of self-irony, "but perhaps I will not come to regret this as I've regretted the rest."

Death nodded again.  
"It was a pleasure speaking with you," he noted with a small respectful bow in Gadreel's direction.

Gadreel felt his own shape bending to a similar one, and the irony shed from his lips as the smile on them balanced.  
"The pleasure is all mine," he replied, "and I look forwards to the time when I can come with you."  
  
During the pause that followed, the two of them watched one another with a calm sense of ending between them. Then Death raised his head and for a moment the glow around them brightened.

"As do I," he spoke, "Farewell, Gadreel."

"Farewell."

And with that, the halls turned empty and dark once again.


End file.
